


the meaning of the very land we thread on, the very air we breathe

by thesisean (orphan_account)



Series: the change and comfort we all seek [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: /hj, Family Dynamics, Gen, dream dies right after, dream is a carpenter, george doesn't really want to have coffee with a child, george is a writer, ghost au, or idk you could read this one too, please read part 1 n 2 first, pls sap is the literal definition of a griffindor, sap died prior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27054820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thesisean
Summary: he also realises that he’s actually visible to them, sometimes. george flinches when he looks over to sap sprawled on his couch. dream turns away to rub his eyes when sap glides over to examine his creations closer.it’s frustrating, living in the in between of life and death. notgone,but not breathing. he splays open palms over his still heart.sap misses a whole bunch of people and wishes to breathe again.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: the change and comfort we all seek [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968274
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83





	the meaning of the very land we thread on, the very air we breathe

**Author's Note:**

> how do people like lilibug update multiple chapters of different stories every day and there's just me dying because im trying to reach the required thousand words

he’s always been compared with fire. the way he acts solely on impulse, like flames that consume flammable wood. terribly ironic, he thinks, that it’s the thing that lets him meet his first end. 

  
_“bad’s still in there!” someone screams, he doesn’t know who. the fire rages, licks furiously at the building. he tears the grip from an officer, ignoring the panicked yells for him to stop. he coughs in the smoke, pushing his soot-stained shirt up to his nose. it’s a struggle to see, but when he blinks the smoke tearily away he sees the dark figure slumped in the corner. his arm is caught horribly in a raging flame and he screams in pain, stumbles towards the body. the burns on his body from the first time throbs and so unbearable he has to breathe slowly through his nose. he reaches bad, pulls his slack arm over a shoulder. bad’s small breaths are barely felt on the bare skin of his back. his feet stutter as he tries his hardest to climb the stairs, to weave through the dancing fire flames. he hisses as fire burns across his chest, presses on._

  
_the door’s there. he feels bad stirring behind him, feels bad dropping shakily to his feet. he shudders, releases bad’s arm, drops to his knees. “sapnap?” whispered, then through his silver of consciousness he feels hands sweep under his knees, his back. he groans quietly, and dark edges in._

  
he’s aware that he died of third-degree burns, coupled with the various first- and second-degree ones, at the hospital. he wonders how badly hurt he was to remember nothing of the hospital. 

  
doesn’t matter. he’s dead now. 

  
he sometimes wonders what would’ve happened if he wasn’t reckless, waited instead of trying to get bad himself. at least he saved him. at least he’s alive, probably to live until he’s the ripe old age of a hundred. 

  
maybe it had been worth it. maybe. he doesn’t know. there’s no one to tell him how to feel, in this weird space he exists in between life and death, the cloud sky place when he’s unconscious. when he’s not, he’s in george’s house, or in dream’s workplace. it’s maybe comforting, watching george stare at the screen, tilting his face to see better through his glasses, or dream pushing a saw through a plank of fiberglass wood, fingers chipping at the rough bits. he doesn’t know why he’s there, but he feels peaceful, somehow. _happy_ even. not as happy when george just stares in a daze at a certain part of his wall, or when dream cries. he hates that he’s the cause of their emotions. 

  
he also realises that he’s actually visible to them, sometimes. george flinches when he looks over to sap sprawled on his couch. dream turns away to rub his eyes when sap glides over to examine his creations closer. 

  
it’s frustrating, living in the in between of life and death. not _gone_ , but not breathing. he splays open palms over his still heart. 

  
dream joins him a week later. he didn’t see that one coming. 

  
\--

  
it’s a struggle to hold himself up. it’s a struggle when he’s sure george is asleep and dream is in that cloud land place. he doesn’t let sobs wreck his body, like dream does, or reminisce over past photos and conversations like george. he just perches on the sofa, rubbing thumb over his wrist in slow circles. he thinks about the past. thinks about how very much he would like to change it. thinks of the present. thinks of how scary the future is, when finally, _finally_ he gets swept away to where people should rightfully go after their heart stutters and stops and their appendages go slack. it’s frightening. he tenses up at the thought, at the imagined feeling of nothing that exists beyond this world. 

  
_what is death?_

  
dream asked him about that. or it was himself. when they were children. 

  
he doesn’t have an answer. it snakes around his arm, circles his head, and he can never actually grab it. he’s close to gripping it sometimes, but it slinks away out of reach.

  
_what is_ life _?_

  
_that_ he knows. life is having everything you want. it’s the prancing in green meadows, telling a specific colourblind boy how _green_ feels, collapsing onto the carpet of grass, pushing a single unthorned rose into a specific artistically-inclined disorganised man’s windswept hair. it’s laughing at jokes that a more _‘hey-mamas’_ man than him cracks, pouting and clinging to a hapless father figure. it’s meeting a floofy-haired man for a long-standing joke, renting a surprise limo. it’s playfully teasing the dad and his three chaotic sons on minecraft. it’s smiling at a long friend who’s just so in love with another small streamer whose name reminds him of red velvet cake. it’s playfully flirting with a brown-haired hufflepuff who matches him so well in energy and personality. it’s laughing at a friend who resonates so strongly with a fox about how he’s a furry. it’s giving and teaching someone just like his younger brother everything he knows about bees. 

  
he wants to live, again, no matter how much he doesn’t deserve it. 

  
dream stirs beside him. sap lets him sleep. 

  
\--

  
(maybe it’s his own fault and his fate that he died)

  
\--

  
george tells him they’re going to see tommy. sap sees just how nervous he is, the way he clutches a little too tightly on the strap of a shoulder bag, pushes the wrinkles of his shirt down, even though they all know that a child’s not going to care about any of that stuff. 

  
“you’ll be _fine,_ ” dream waves a airy hand, swims around george. “this is _tommyinnit_ you’re talking about. he doesn’t care about appearances. child literally went out calling girls his age his girlfriend.” 

  
“it’s not that.” george sighs, rubbing his hands using fists. “i haven’t actually _seen_ any of them…” the unspoken words uttered in the awkward pause makes sapnap turn away. 

  
“you both are going too, right?” george adds, voice edging slightly on desperation. 

  
sap scoffs. “obviously. wouldn’t miss out on seeing the child protagonist, would i?” 

  
george rolls his eyes. “whatever.”

  
“that’s not what you said last night.” sap says offhandedly. dream almost has a wheezing seizure. 

  
“oh my god.” george sighs. “you’re so annoying.”

  
sap smiles slightly, walking up to his eyes. 

  
“you still love me.”

  
the faint flush of his face tells that it’s true. the fond look in dream’s eyes confirms it. 

  
“let’s go.”

\--

they step out of the house the first time, together, in the rapidly setting sun. it’s beautiful, much like the depths of dream’s light green irises and the clear brown of george’s. he tugs securely on the bandana. he likes this. 

  
he doesn’t know death, but he does know life. 


End file.
